Canine Mishaps
by KatxValentine
Summary: Puppies are always wonderful. Except when that puppy was once the Phantom of the Opera and is now your vicious little monster.
1. Puppy Present

**Welcome to my new ficcy, 'Canine Mishaps'. This idea came to me when I was drawing an increasingly silly little picture of the Phantom as a puppy (I always thought it'd look so adorable) and I was like 'hey, what if he was subjected to being a pet for all he's done to make up for what he's done wrong….' And thusly was this story born! I figured it'd be fun, ya know? Well, without further ado, I don't own the Phantom. I do, however, own his puppy form and him in my closet with a tub of chocolate sauce and a can of whipped cream.**

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**It was my birthday. I should've been _happy_. It was my sixteenth birthday, no less, and I had requested that I not have some massive extravaganza like most girls would.**

**I seriously hated those, with all the huge, puffy dresses and the false smiles that seemed so out of place. I'd just asked for a nice, quiet little evening with my family (I didn't invite my friends, lest my family go psycho and scare 'em away).**

**See, I'm going to explain something, a _quiet_ evening with my family is impossible. We are, by nature, loud, crude, rude, lewd and all-around silly. We're a fun bunch, but we're very….European. We can't keep to ourselves, we gossip, we scream, we smack each other on the back, we fight tooth and nail and, most importantly, we eat. A lot.**

**However, that's not the reason I was unhappy. Ohh, by the by, allow me to introduce myself, my name's Kat. Well, not really, but I hate my real name so I don't use it. And my last name, though it's really not, is Valentine, which is also a nickname I picked up along the road of life. **

**Back to the matter at hand, I had just turned sixteen and I was irritated as all hell. I had wanted a dog since I was five years old and had spent every chance I got begging for a puppy. After sixteen years of carrying out the task that I consider living, I was granted my request.**

**Only, my request was granted as a cranky, scruffy little mutt.**

**The little dog sat in the corner, irritated as a canine could be. Its' fur was jet black and spiked though messy. Despite the obsidian fur, the undersides of its' ears as well as half of its' tail was bright white, which made me curious. Its' eyes were the most terrifying part. **

**Those eyes were too bright and too inquisitive to be anything _but_ human. They were light green, but not bright enough to be emerald. The coloring was magnificent in itself, but it wasn't the odd thing. Those eyes seemed too intelligent for a dog, too sharp and intent. They seemed almost…_arrogant_.**

**My mother had decided, just to amuse me and feed my Phantom of the Opera fix, she would buy the mutt a tiny half mask and shove it upon the right side of the creatures' face. It looked so _cute_. A small, black string was tied 'round its' neck and fastened into an adorable little bow.**

**Despite the dog's looks, it was no cute little dog. On the outside it was a precious little puppy, on the inside it was a cranky, brooding little monster.**

"**Hey, princess, you like your new puppy?" my dad asked, affectionately smacking me on the back.**

**My father, though my dearest mom and dad were separated, had come to visit on my birthday and give me my present. He was a rather short, though imposing in stature, broad in shoulder and dangerous-looking in his features. His hair was black, though silver strands speckled his hair and was, as usual, slicked back. He had inherited the bright blue eyes from his father's side of the family, a trait I admired and resented because I had not had the luck to gain it.**

"**Yeah" I pasted on a false smile "thanks, daddy"**

**He smiled, placed a hand upon my head and patted my brunette curls affectionately. My mother casually stepped through the ocean of relatives and over to me, smiling widely.**

**She was fairly tall for a female, with hair identical to mine, though shorter. In other words, curled in these disgustingly perfect ringlets that were, unfortunately, perfectly natural. I had not gotten her eyes, either, mine were all my own.**

"**Ooh, yeah, hi, haven't seen you in awhile, Aunt Fofo. Yes, nice to see you" she managed to make it over to me, smiling widely, "how do you like your new pet, sweetie? Isn't he adorable…you should go teach him to sit"**

**And I was shooed from the room before my mouth could even open. Next thing I knew, the door was opened and the dog was dumped on the bed next to me. It instantly bolted off the bed and into the corner, glaring like a _human_.**

**The silence was deafening.**

"**So…." As soon as my mouth opened, the mutt began to growl in the back of it's' throat.**

**Why did my dad have to get me the devil dog?**

"**I think I should name you cranky" I glared right back. The creatures' mouth opened and a quiet little 'yip' escaped its mouth as if to respond.**

"**You're sorta smart for a bratty little doggie…so…yeah…the mask says it all. Your name is Erik now" it turned its face to me, floppy ears perking in recognition and slight interest. Another teensy yip.**

**The familiar sounds of my aunt Helen trying to marry me off again reverberated off the walls outside my room. I heaved a little sigh and looked back at the mutt, whose eyes were intensely studying me.**

"**So….I'm…talking to my new dog…" it yipped again, this time in what I could swear was irritation.**

**A loud chorus of yells came from outside (the world I dare not enter for fear relatives would eat me) and someone yelling, "she's smart, she'll be a psychiatrist, I'd bet all my steak on it!"**

**Yeah. Definitely an argument worthy of my family.**

"…**.." the dog's expression read. Then, I heard something. I thought it was my aunt Helen screaming again, so I got up and locked my door warily.**

**But the sound wasn't a girl's voice…it was male…and it was grumbling in a slight French accent…**

…**.what the _hell?_**

"**Dog…are you…talking?" I asked, getting off my bed. I knelt over cautiously, eyes wide and disbelieving.**

"**Ohh my, you blithering fool, have we truly regressed to referring to me as a canine when you had the name so correct?" the mutt turned and pawed forward a little, arrogantly giving me a once-over.**

**My mouth dropped to the floor, my jaw hung slack, my eyes began wider than dinner plates.**

**My dog could _speak_. And like really speak, none of that woof bullshit.**

"…**.you're a _dog_" the creature suddenly stepped to me and clamped its fangs into my arm, snarling.**

"**I'd kinfly haff you know tha' I a' no do', m_ademoiselle_" he managed, arm still in his mouth.**

**(I'd kindly have you know that I am no dog, _mademoiselle_)**

"**OWWW!" I yelled, raising my arm. The little mutt remained set, teeth sinking in and producing a stream of bright scarlet.**

"**Ta' ba' tha' las' commen', _mademoiselle!_" the canine exclaimed.**

**(Take back that last comment, _mademoiselle_)**

**I frantically waved my hands around before I closed my hand around the dog's tail, yanking him free of me with a loud slash across my skin as his teeth scraped crossways. I held him in the air by the scruff of his neck.**

"**HOW DARE YOU BRING SUCH DISHONOR TO THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA!"**

……**.Tell me I'm dreaming. Tell me he didn't just say that.**

**Ohh _damn_.**

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**Review and I will continue. Wow, I hate this idea :laughs: ahh, well, I like writing it. Flames will be used to toast marshmallows. Anyways, Phantom puppy has mauled me!**


	2. Sleepy Time

Pet him xD (Do I own anything except the Phantom of the Opera in my closet with a tub of chocolate sauce and some whipped cream? Actually, yes, the idea as well as the Phantom puppy is mine….the idea of the Phantom himself belongs to the great Sir Andrew Lloyd Weber and the brilliant Gaston Leroux. Phantom puppy mine, though….ohh, yeah, and :Hands out cake and cookies to reviewers and looker-overs:

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Okay, let's recap on all this. Birthday, good, presents, good, puppy….evil to the core. What was my mother _thinking_ with this little brat of a canine?

"HOW DARE YOU BRING SUCH DISHONOR TO THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA!"

Excuse me, this little brat of a _Phantom_ canine.

I instantly dropped the pup upon my carpet and pressed my hand to the bleeding puncture marks upon my arm, shock and fear and amazement all showing on my face.

"You wretched, vile creature" the mutt raised itself to its' paws, tail lowered and body dangerously shifted in pounce-ready stance.

"Whoa…I'm losing it…" I mumbled, getting up and pressing my hand to my forehead, "dogs can't talk"

Something tugged ferociously at my pant leg. I grimaced and the dog was now sitting coolly at my feet, condescendingly blinking his almost-emerald eyes.

"I hate you with the passion of a thousand suns"

I take that as a challenge.

"I hate you like I hate cat woman" I sat down on the carpet in front of the dog.

"I despise you as a dog despises cats" ooh, wretched irony! Oh cruel fate, what a hand thou hath dealt me with this nickname!

"I hate you like Hilary Duff hates Lindsay Lohan" I sneered, smirking. He blinked confusedly, assumed that was a bad thing, and kept on.

"I hate you as a feline hates water"

"I hate you as I hate the Vicomte De Chagny" we said in unison.

Everyone knew that was my one and ultimate insult….

"Y-You know who the Vicomte is?" he asked shakily, eyes widening. I nodded vigorously, ringlets bouncing with my head.

"Of course, I favor you over the Vicomte. I think it should've been you to get the girl…not that stuck-up, long-haired, half-woman son of a bitch" I explained, blinking equally as he did.

"Finally, someone agrees! It's been over a century and for years and years it is constantly 'Vicomte' this and 'Vicomte' that! It is incessantly, 'the Opera Ghost! What a wretched, ridiculous-"

"Your name is Erik" I said pointedly, "it pisses me off when people call you the Opera Ghost"

"And who are you to tell me what my name is, _Mademoiselle_?" he yowled, twitching a little. A yip accompanied that statement.

"Kat, _mademoiselle_ Kat. At least use my name" I said blankly.

I sat on my knees and bent over the teensy doggie, who seemed to growl softly. I gently picked him up off his paws and he whimpered, yipping loudly.

A smile began on my lips. Widening.

"You're really cute" I grinned. The little dog kept struggling.

I nuzzled him affectionately and giggled, still nuzzling. He barked many times and pawed viciously at my arm, making little groaning noises in the back of his throat.

"Let GO!" he yowled, raising his face to the ceiling and letting out a loud, ear shattering howl.

I dropped him right on his head and pressed my hands to my ears, wincing.

He rolled off his head and fell on his back with a loud, fearful yip.

"WHY YOU WRETCHED LITTLE BEAST!" he growled, and pounced me over, attempting to hurt me with the tiny paws. I just sat there and let him, unamused.

I caught one of the paws in my hand and took my other hand to it, raising a finger to tickle the little paw while smiling and laughing like a two year old.

He just blinked, yawned widely, and fell asleep.

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Gah! So cute! I love the Phantom puppy! Thanks for all the reviews, I think I'll keep this one going ,and my apologies it took _so _long to update! Each person who reviews gets the little brat mutt for a day or so XD, I'm willing to let other puppy-sit. Hehe…


	3. Cheese Popcorn Diving

I own nothing. But damn am I surprised by how many people like this phic, so I'm gonna keep it goin'. Ahem, I don't own a blessed, Ozdamned thing except the Phantom in my closet with a can of whipped cream and a tub of chocolate sauce. Thanks so much to the reviewers and such, I really _really _appreciate it. On with the show!

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Bored and tired, my arm wrapped tightly in a thin gauze, I looked around the room. My sunglasses (which I was wearing around the house simply because I was in the mood) slipped down the edge of my nose as I stared blankly at the book in front of my eyes.

The sunglasses, which I mention for the sake of mentioning, were of a peculiar sort, with crimson lenses that made my hazel eyes look maroon and perfectly rounded lenses. Those of you that are Hellsing fans, Alucard's glasses (as I couldn't resist asking for them for the birthday…along with the mutt).

Something pawed my leg. I glared straight ahead.

The puppy and I hadn't been on excellent terms. It had only been a day that I had the little brat and already he had managed to assault me multiple times with those vicious little choppers in his mouth. Hence the gauze around my arm.

"Is anyone in there?" he barked irritably and pawed again, batting at my leg.

My eyes dropped to look through the glasses, reading an old, long-worn copy of 'Wicked' by Gregory Maguire (worn from overuse, not age, mind you).

"Child!" he demanded roughly. I rolled my eyes.

'_Who does that little Dog think he's calling child?_' I thought, biting down on my lip to resist the anger bubbling.

"Can I request an answer, oh great brat?" he snapped sarcastically. I slammed my book shut and leaned over, glaring violently down at the puny dog.

"_What?_" I asked calmly, batting my eyelashes in irritated detachment and a signal of 'go away'.

"I'm hungry," he remarked flatly, making a little throat clearing sound, "and, as the only one capable, it is your obligation to feed me"

"In a minute," I muttered, slipping further back, sinking into the chair and reopening my book. I kept reading, apathetic to the mutts' wishes.

"What is it you're reading?" he asked, almost too coolly and very much too interested in tone.

"Wicked," I responded in automatic fashion. He kept batting at my leg.

"May I see?" he asked (sounding, once more, _way _too interested).

"And why would _you_, the great, wonderful Erik, want with _my _inferior reading material?" I snorted unbecomingly. He seemed to sneer and smirk a little. I was amused.

"Boredom. Don't flatter yourself, child," he smirked calmly, hopping to his feet and trotting forward a few steps. He pawed at my leg again. I looked down, annoyed, "I'd like to read a little, if you don't mind, and it seems I have been afforded a sort of handicap being my...height, or lack thereof"

I giggled, allowing myself to be a little lighthearted. He _was_ cute. So I gently took the scruff of his neck and lifted the little puppy into the air, plopping him down squarely into my lap.

"Thank you," he said cordially, taking a seat comfortably. I chuckled and couldn't help but smile. A gentleman, even as a canine. His ears flattened back and twitched, his little tail wagged just a bit against my arm, "alright…one question…"

"Yeah?" I asked, smiling from ear to ear now.

"How am I supposed to understand any of this…mess…if I don't know a thing from the beginning?" he inquired coolly. That was the downside, even as a canine he held an air of superiority.

"Well…you see, Glinda is the Good Witch of the North and Elphie is the-" I stopped, noticing his eyes were wide with confusion, "Forget it, I'll let you read it for awhile and I'll go make you something to eat. Since you refuse to eat the kibble"

I picked him up once more and was thankful that he wasn't restless, or over anxious. He was, in fact, closer to serenity than ever I had seen him. He yipped a tiny yip as I gently set him down on my bed and he rolled over on his back, legs in the air, tail waving just a bit and little nose intently wiggling and sniffing. His eyes turned to me, like faded, burnt out emeralds and he blinked listlessly. I swear…he was so _cute_. So I picked up the book and turned it to page one, setting it on the bed in front of him. As if excited, he hopped to his paws and scurried over, dropping directly in front of the book.

"Have fun. I'll make you something to eat…you're French, right?" I asked, chuckling as his eyes ticked across the page.

"No, I'm Irish and my father was the Lord of the River dance," he paused for effect, then snapped, "Of course I'm French, you dolt! Does this accent tell you anything else?"

The silence set in and then, because I couldn't resist…

…. "Your father was Michael Flatley?"

He just let out this low growling sound and went to shoving his entire body into attempting to turn the page. His paw (several times) skidded unsuccessfully across the page and he murmured angry strings of words in French that seemed to drag on for hours.

I _had _to ask if he was French? Now he would expect some kind of nine course meal that was all cooked to perfection.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I am incapable of cooking things, let alone entire _courses_. I'm a failure in that aspect. Okay, I'm a failure in most aspects, let me explain….

….I can't cook, I don't clean, I don't finish things, I can't order food from the Chinese and/or pizza place up the block because I always slip into a friendly conversation with them, I prank call Australia every so often to ask which way their toilets flush, I prank Oklahoma to sing the theme song (Oklaaaaahoma, where the wind goes sweepin' down the plains), I want to prank California so I can sing 'Hotel California' by The Eagles, I leave magazines lying around all over the place and they're usually only half finished, when I'm writing I ignore everyone and everything around me, I have a complex where I _have _to finish a book in a day if I started it _that _day and I have this weird little habit where I flip coins and catch them half in an attempt to look cool and half out of a nervous tick.

So there you have it, those are about half my flaws. I have a-lot more…but no one wants to hear about my psychological insecurities. Onward.

So I sauntered lazily into the kitchen and yawned, pulling out a microwave bag of popcorn. I shoved it in the microwave for two minutes and took a seat at the kitchen table. I pulled a quarter (I kept them on me at all times) from the pocket of my pajama pants and flipped it in the air, catching it quickly back in my palm. Throw, catch, repeat. I counted. It landed on heads ten times, tails five times. Yes, I keep score…

The microwave began to shrilly beep and I covered my ears. My microwave was one of those inhuman electronics that was dreadful no matter how much you said you loved it. Suck up to the microwave, it just hated you worse.

Like _some _things I know (gee, who ever could _that_ be?).

So I ripped open the popcorn bag, hacking and coughing up a lung as the barrage of smoky popcorn residue rose up to meet my face from the bag. I poured the popcorn into a shiny silver bowl and carried it inside.

I slinked over to the side of my bed and craned my neck. He was already on page _fifty_. Dog after my own heart.

"Hey," I mumbled, lightly scratching his ear. He let out this low, little satisfied sound and looked up at me, ears twitching, and "I got ya somethin' to eat"

"Hmm?" it was more a question than anything, this little, purred noise in the back of his throat.

I set down the popcorn bowl and he blinked, standing on his little pawed toes to look over the rim. He warily leaned closer, sniffed the contents as if they were poisoned and licked a popcorn kernel.

"Pop. Corn," I said calmly, pushing him by his little puppy behind into the popcorn bowl. He let out this harsh little yelp and went nose first into the popcorn. I couldn't help but laugh.

"Mmm…" he stopped, the white of his little mask was now smeared with the orange of cheese popcorn and his mouth was full to the maximum capacity, "Ish good"

I giggled and stretched out a hand, running a few fingers over the mask to clear away the cheese. I chuckled when he flinched and shook my head, tsking under my breath.

"Don't touch," and with that, he retreated nose first, once more into the sea of cheese popcorn.

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Wow, this is Tick-Tocking silly. But ahh well, review please. I greatly appreciate it, people reading this, you keep the sucky phic going xD anyways, thank you for joining me and 'til next time…


	4. Chess and Missed Chances

"Check"

"Checkmate, game and match," he replied coolly. His paw batted casually over to the piece as it knocked my king over. I held back the urge to grab his little puppy neck and shake him about at the frustration. Instead, I went to assessment.

"No. It can't be, it can't," he smirked in triumph, little, pointed teeth exposed and glimmering under the fluorescent lights.

"It can and, oh, _Mon Dieau_, what's that? It _is_," he barked in victory and his little tail rose, wagging. He raised his nose in the air and closed his eyes, still grinning.

"You won…" I'd been defeated. By my _dog_. I had been beaten by a canine. A _canine_, a puny little mutt that I could step on.

"That is indeed correct, yes," he nodded to affirm it, his floppy little ears bounced.

"…Fuck…" I cursed, laying at eye level with the chess board. My eyes narrowed as I tried to remember the moment of every piece.

The little dog bounded up from the floor and hopped up onto me, landing directly on my rear end. I let out a little squeak and turned my head to glare, "what are you doing?"

"I'm the king of the castle," he remarked arrogantly, taking a seat on my backside.

My eyes narrowed.

"That's my ass," I said in flat monotone.

"So it is"

"I'd appreciate if you got off it," I blushed a little bit, just enough to turn pink.

"I don't think I want to," he said breezily, laying himself down. I tensed.

"Well you have to," I shifted and he tumbled off, to which I snapped around and picked him up by his middle. His little paws vainly flailed in the air and tried to bat at my hand but I grinned, "who's a bad little boy?"

"Oh come off it, you idiot, and put me down!" he growled and nipped at my fingers lightly, little teeth tugging at my skin.

"No no. Who's my bad little boy?" I grinned. Oh no, the baby talk. I set him down and, little cooing noises and all, I began to tickle him with my index finger, "who's my bad little boy?"

"I suppose I am," he managed through laughs. Every time he laughed, his noise made this little sniffle noise like he was helplessly trying to hold back the tiny, jubilant sound.

"Caitlin, dinner. Time to stop playing with the puppy," my mother's voice suddenly came from the door and Erik fell totally silent as I halted the tickling.

"Right, mommy," I smiled and sat back on my knees, staring down at him.

"Ahem. Indeed, well…it seems you must go partake in dinner with your relatives. Now do scoot your abhorrent face from my field of vision, as it impedes heavily on my ability to think and function," he rose to his paws and his tail shot straight into the air, his ears lifting and his noise rising so high I feared he'd inhale the clouds.

I gained a downtrodden look that lasted for but a minute, replaced by a light smile.

"Yeah. I'll be back in five," I smiled and my fingers entwined with his fur, mussing it. I got up and made for the door when his voice stopped me.

"Miss Reilly?" my last name became odd when he pronounced it. What, no 'brat' anymore?

"Yeah?" I turned around, head tilting as I once more fell to my knees in front of him in order to make the height just a little easier for him to deal with.

"You are not abhorrent. You are, in fact, very pretty," the words stuck in his throat as he forced himself to say them, gaze meeting only the carpet.

I leaned forward and placed a little kiss on his ear, giggling gently at how cute he was when he looked so embarrassed. Puppy plus embarrassed Erik puppy equals adorable.

"You were handsome as a human. Too bad I missed my chance," I laughed, smiling as I got back up and quietly paced downstairs.

When he realized I was out of sight, a huge smile formed on his mouth, stretching all the way from one ear to the other.

And that last thing I said, I was only half kidding.

"Yes, but I think I was the one whose chance was missed," he remarked quietly, batting open my copy of 'Wicked' and continuing to read.

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Aww. I'm debating whether I want to make him human or not at one point. If you're kind enough to drop a review, would you guys mind maybe giving me a suggestion on that one? The feedback might help me out a little…heh, well, anyways, thanks for reading as always.


	5. Right In the Heart

Don't own, Phantom, closet, whipped cream, chocolate sauce. I owe my life to my reviewers and looker-over's, I love you guys. And the italics dream sequence. I like 'em.

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_I found myself in the middle of a blindingly white room, standing there in confused fascination. I raised an arm and shielded my eyes, wincing._

"_Miss Reilly?" a voice of booming, bass like proportions seemed to come out of nowhere. I looked around, no figure was visible._

"_Y-Yes?"_

"_There is a way that he shall be human once more," I immediately knew who 'he' was._

"_I'll do anything, tell me how…" this reason was half selfish and half unselfish. I mean, come on, who wouldn't take him?_

"_His humanity shall be restored when he learns to let go of the past. Once he thinks of you as you, once he likes you for you, once he accepts who you truly are, instead of seeing you as some miniature version of a lost love, only then will he be granted his human form again. He has to let go of what used to be and understand what is. Once that happens, then he will be himself once more," I sat back, listening intently to the booming voice, "you must melt his cold heart and ease his tense mind ,you must bring peace to the restless. Once this has occurred, love or not, he will be himself"_

"…_No offense, but that's rather cliché, no?" I asked, with a tiny crack of a smile._

"_Indeed, but I do not intend to please you, now do I? Simply give instructions and that is all. Be wary, child, forced too hard and he will break, the same, he will learn, is true of you," _

"_Huh, what does that-"_

The dream cracked into shards, fading into nothing, dissipating into the hot air. I shook and rubbed my bare arms, a cold sweat clung damply to my neck and stuck my curls to my forehead.

"You sleep like a damnably restless brat, do you know that?" he groaned from next to my bed, wearily blinking his green eyes.

"Yeah…Yeah…" I breathed shallowly and pushed the sheets off me, sitting up. I pushed my head into my hands and heaved a painful sigh, shivering as the air hit my body. I forget perspiration plus air makes cold. So much for listening in science class.

"You look like hell," he growled bluntly, bringing himself to his paws and trotting over at my feet, "what happened?"

"Nothing…." I lied, smiling half heartedly. The dark loomed around us both, for him it brought comfort, for me it choked. It tugged and wrapped around my throat like a suffocating noose, "I need a shower…go back to sleep"

_Break me? What did that voice mean…break me?_

Chills shot up and down my spine at the thought before I felt a little batting at my leg. I looked down to see a black spot swatting at my foot.

"You know, the least intelligent thing to do when one has a problem is to say nothing at all," his tone flowed judgment, like an accusation on my being stubborn.

"Yeah," I muttered in frustration, then dragged my sorry rear end into the bathroom. I stepped into the shower and turned the dial and there I was, standing there, in my tank top, my little puppy-patterned pajama pants and my fluffy white slippers that read 'Diva' on a big, red heart in the front.

The shower gave a little spritz sound and droplets began to fall, before a full on downpour of ice water came crashing over me. I sat on the floor, feeling an absent stinging begin in my eyes. I ignored it and leaned against the wall, letting the frigid liquid wash over me. It stung like a thousand tiny needles, it reminded me that I was alive. Though desperately afraid of pain, sometimes…well, sometimes…

…_you have to make it hurt to feel._

My head popped in that statement, my poetic side butting in. My eyes were hurting something awful now, burning and stinging. I wondered what this was, and then I realized…

A salty, kind of bitter taste rolled into my mouth and cascaded gingerly over my tongue as I swallowed, hard.

Tears.

Okay, folks, I'm going to acquaint you with a fact about myself. It's been an awfully long time since I've cried, I actually can't ever remember crying, but I know I don't take well to it. Tears were and still are foreign to me.

I gave in, feeling my stomach do a flip flop as I pulled my knees as tight as I could to my chest, nearly crushing my lungs, and burying my face in my arms. The sobs were as bad as they could get, these whimpered, heaved hiccups. Then came the shaking, the violent shivering, the sound only drowned by the rushing rhythm of the shower. I didn't want to hear myself, not like this.

There was a loud, piercing sound that ripped through the pitter patter of the shower. It was a shrill howl, slicing through the air that seemed to get hotter despite the frozen cold.

"What on earth is going o-" He whacked the door open with all the force in his paw and it swung on the hinges briefly as he stepped in. The orbs of forest widened and a little gasp stuck in his throat.

The sight brought back memories the little dog would prefer to forget. A small girl, tiny frame, tiny build, curled up in silent cries. The chocolate curls cascading yet damp, the hiccups….

"Christine," he breathed silently. His step forth was halted, ears perked straight up, one paw still off the ground.

So much for 'I don't care about you'.

I kept sobbing, harder now, my ears shut out everything but my own wails.

A little bark and he sped forward, immediately soaked by the violent cascade, the jet black fur slicked with the brief white sections like a messy, melted painting.

"Hey…" he murmured gently, trying vainly to keep against the waterfall…..well, to him anyway.

I hiccupped and meekly raised my head from my arms, face scrunched in an expression of weepy sadness, lower lip quivering. My eyes had faded to coffee brown, as they do sometimes. But what a _bad _time for this.

"Christine"


	6. Note to Self:Don't Trust Dog

The instant the word met my ears I felt my body turn frigid, my eyes harden and my jaw set. The tears spilled over even faster, my eye by now, were terribly bloodshot. I gathered in a breath I meant to be imposing, but it just became a violent shuddering gasp and a pained whimper.

It was then I realized my most fatal error. In the mass, soaking water, my hair must have gotten wet enough that the rubber band holding my ponytail not-so-solidly in place had slid from my curls, leaving my hair _down_.

Twenty dollars to anyone who can guess what I look like with my hair down. Or, more specifically, _who_.

"Is it you?" he murmured, carefully marching forward. I leaned forward enough to turn the shower dials so as the jet stream was off and had given us quiet.

"No, it's still your worthless, goddamn owner," I sniffled, running my wet arm across my brown eyes. I vigorously continued to sniffle and shiver, whimpering.

"….No, that's impossible….Christine-"

"I TOLD YOU, I'M NOT HER!" I exploded. Now, there's something to explain that I think I must. Erik has a temper, but it barely touches _my_ temper. I'm generally calm, mild-mannered, level, right? Once someone sets off my temper, I normally have to deck a wall as hard as possible to rid myself of the vicious feeling. And that is _just_ what I did.

Crash! My fist went knuckles-first into the hard tiling of the bathroom wall. Crack! Impact with the wall and two of my knuckles split wide open. I watched as a smear of crimson mingled and diluted with a puddle of water, giving the substance a faint, pink appearance.

The copper stench asserted my nostrils and stung my nose terribly, the sting of it burned. Blood made me unnerved.

I cried ever the harder, sobbing and moaning in pain as I cradled my injured hand and slid into a ball, slowly drawing into myself. I shivered wildly, my eyes wide and pupils dilated so largely they overtook my entire iris.

Taking in deep, labored, fearful breaths my ears could no longer hear, I fainted.

"Miss Reilly! Miss _Reilly?_" a voice barked, literally barked, and I felt something nudge my side. I moaned and shook.

Did a ton of bricks fall on my head?

"What the hell's wrong with you?" the source of the bark was, of course, my dog, immediately in my face. His little nose pushed against mine and his eyes were cold, accusing.

"Shove off," my voice trembled audibly, making me try to level my shaking tone. I pushed myself up on the palms of my hands, watching as the feeble scab forming on my two knuckles split wide open from spreading my fingers and sent warm red slipping down my fingers, hanging on my fingertips, "Go away"

"You're all wet…you know, you'll catch your death like that," he trotted in front of me and stood unwaveringly set , not allowing me to move any more for fear of crushing him in my shifts.

"I don't care," I remarked flatly. My voice was so dully apathetic it frightened me.

He took a light step forward and lowered his little head to my right hand. His tongue slid across the bloodied knuckle in an attempt to clean off some of the crimson but I ripped my hand away.

"Don't touch me," I snarled, cradling my hand. He blinked up at me, a drop of blood hung on his little, pointed teeth but he quickly slid his tongue across it as if afraid of disturbing me. "Oh shit"

I looked behind me at the white tiling in the shower, now an array of maroons and scarlets mingling and melting into a twisted oil painting. I choked back a little bit of bile at that, covering my mouth from my hand.

"You've been out for about an hour, I tried everything possible to wake you," he said evenly. With that, he turned and trotted to the door, "Well, are you coming? You'll need to get out of those wet clothes"

"To hell with you," I grumbled, and got to my feet. My white tank top smeared red, I wearily trudged on.

"I don't know if I stated this already, but you look a mess. And, just to inform you," he carefully pressed his side against my leg to try and help me keep balance, "you're stumbling"

"I can walk five steps!" I hissed. True to form, I tripped over and fell right to the floor. Well, on the way there I smacked my head impossibly hard against the edge of my bed. With a loud moan, I gathered myself back to my feet and let out a dazed groan, rubbing the afflicted spot.

Before I could get up, he was in front of me in a flash, all four paws spread out, intent concern blazing and flickering in his green eyes. They danced with a temporary, worn light that flickered out instantly.

"Maybe not"

XxXxXxXxXx

Chapter six done. Ooh, I like angst! I have to make it funny again…..


	7. Fluffy Puppies Are Hard to Resist

"I hate you, you know."

That was all we said to each other, back and forth, for the past hour. I laid in bed, tightly wound in the covers, refusing to change out of my saturated clothes. I was frozen to the point of being a human popsicle, but I was also stubborn.

"Mmm," he replied in disinterest, batting a paw to turn the page.

He was three pages from finishing 'Wicked', which he had taken particular interest to, and pretended he didn't hear a word I'd said.

"I hated your skeleton mask."

"Mmm," was the reply again.

My teeth were starting to chatter so I bit down as hard as I could. My two rows of teeth chomped down and began shivering and shaking together, forcing my whole body to shudder. My eye twitched, a typical tick I had when someone irritated me.

"I hate your eyes." I sneered flatly, glaring at him through half lidded, coffee brown orbs.

He made this pitiful little snort and said jade eyes rose from the book. They sparked with a little amusement and went back to the book. He nudged it with his nose, turning to the very last page.

"I hate you," I turned over, staring at my purple walls and being sure he could see the full expanse of my back. I _hoped_ he felt bad.

"I hate you..." I felt myself start to tear up again a little, shivering and wrapping my knuckles tightly in the covers. I bit on my lip as hard as I could and sniffled, weakly whimpering.

"I've...ahem..." he let out a teensy bark and strode to the side of the bed, looking up with these pathetic, green eyes, "I've finished...the...book...Miss Reilly..."

"Go away. I hate you."

"Now, Miss Reilly, you know-" I swear there was this edge of hurt in his tone, this pitiful little whiny quality. So I interrupted just as fast as I could.

"I hate you. Now go away."

The covers shifted when I realized he was frantically trying to hop into the bed, making all kinds of little squeaks and French curses integrating seamlessly with each other. I turned over and propped my head up on my injured hand, staring at him in the dark.

His little ears flopped each time he made for a great leap, sliding right back to the floor slowly. He just kept going in vain attempts to get up on the bed, which was _way_ too tall for him.

"Come on..." I leaned over the side of the bed and held out my hands, sighing, "pathetic little Erik, come here."

"I rese- OOF!" I gripped his little paws and hoisted him into the bed. I was _so_ angry.

"You don't resent anything, now quiet."

Silence. Awkward silence. I had awkward silence with a _dog_.

His throat cleared with a scruffy little growl and I felt his paw lightly nudge my hand. I'd decided to ignore him but he cleared his throat louder and then he did the strangest thing, he licked my nose and nipped lightly at it.

"What the _fuck_ was that for?" I asked, voice shaking a little. In the dark, I was blushing.

"An apology. You may look...nearly...exactly as she did as a child but...I...I had no right to accuse you of being her. It was...how would you put it...a bitchy thing to do, and I apologize," I heard him clear his throat again and he shifted awkwardly, "and _mon dieau_, woman, do something about your hand, you _reek_ of blood."

That was such a weird joke; his sense of humor is _so_ weird.

"Mmm..." I nodded and buried my face in the pillow, forcing my hand under the pillowcase and jamming it there so it was set in the fabric, "I don't hate you."

"Nor I you, Miss Reilly. I don't precisely adore you but I don't abhor you either."

"Kat. Call me Kat." I chose to disregard the second statement, why ruin a good thing?

"_Mademoiselle_ Kat. Alright, I believe I can do that. How...ironic..."

"That I'm a Kat that owns a dog?"

"Ruff."

"Yeah."

I smiled to myself in the dark and his little head nudged me again, making for a loud whine and this ongoing whimper that eventually faded into the black.

"What is it?" I asked, sort of half dozing. I made for a wide yawn and adjusted the pillowcase.

"Would you care...to..." he cleared his throat for a third time, trying to shove out the words, "to...to...make a bit of room?"

So I pulled down the covers, proud of my Puppy, and let him slide underneath and turn his tiny back on me, itty bitty tail whipping this way and that. I grabbed the little creature in a hug and nuzzled my cheek against his back, his paws batting at my arm.

Hisfur _reeked_ of roses. Was that his scent or something? God, it was _gorgeous_.

"Goodnight, _mademoiselle_ Kat."

"'Night _Monsieur Fantome De L'Opera_."

"Ruff."

XxXxXxXxXx

AWWW!


	8. Ramen

Ever have those days when you wake up and you just wanna kill yourself? I was having one of those days, those please God let me die days. My hand throbbed and ached and pained me like a bitch when I went to rip my hand out from under the pillowcase, wincing.

"Good morning." Two broad, bright green eyes blinked up me from smashed against my chest, looking stupid as ever. He let out a calm bark and hopped to his paws in the bed. His head cocked, tilted to the side and he looked at me with this light little bit of concern.

"Yeah," I grimaced and flexed my hand, grunting in discomfort, "mornin'."

"You slept well, I trust, _mademoiselle_. It _is_ noon, after all."

And there was his bitchy little nerve. He was such a cranky little bastard.

Oh, I guess I should enlighten all reading this. He wanted to be fed, in short. Not everyone has the luck of knowing the little brat well as I do. Don't I feel privileged?

"Alright, alright. Chillify," I made for an irritated little groan and smiled, sliding my injured hand between his ears and ruffling the fur. He made a little squeak, this pathetic little get off noise.

"Please refrain from touching me." He made a great bound off my bed and landed effortlessly on all fours, whipping around to stare at me with those blazing eyes.

Thus, I trotted into the kitchen, my canine shadow faithfully behind me.

I think I must have done something wrong, because I coolly began to pour kibble into his dish and he looked at me like I was insane. We blinked at each other and his mask shot right up in a mock eyebrow raise. I think I offended him.

"I am _not_ eating that."

"Yes you are."

"It's _dog_ food."

"And you are...?"

"_Le Fantome de L'Opera, mademoiselle._ "

"Well, you're fluffy and you have four paws. Last I checked, _that_ was a Dog."

"Am I at least given the liberty of being a Dog with a capital 'D'?"

I laughed. I _had_ to laugh, that was a pretty fuckin' witty joke. Haha….you 'wicked' fans will get that one, I think I never should've given him that book.

"At least _try_ it-"

"I do _not_ eat _kibble_, _mademoiselle!"_

Ooh, feisty little bastard, aren't we? He's going to _eat_ that _kibble_ whether I have to shove it down his throat or not.

"Give it a damn chance, you-"

"I am not a common _animal_, Miss Kat."

"Right, you're an _un_common one."

We both stared at the kibble for a while before he raised a paw and batted a piece off the bowl which had the named 'Erik' scribbled in permanent marker on a piece of paper messily duct taped to the front. He calmly trotted over and sniffed at it, looking confused and curious. His little nose scrunched in discomfort, mask gathering to the middle of his face to enunciate his irritation. I took this opportunity to swiftly place his collar around his throat and snap it closed, grinning.

"GOTCHA!"

The chaos began as the little mutt bounded around like a furry pinball, howling and bashing headfirst into every wall in my kitchen. High score!

"Get this thing off me!" he rolled over on his back and bent his head inward, clamping his sharp little teeth down on the black ribbon and tugging violently, rolling all over the place and making throaty little growls.

"Come on," I cooed and picked him gently up, placing him atop the kitchen counter, "I'll make you a treat."

"I don't suppose you'll be feeding me _filet mignon._"

"No, ever had ramen?"

"……Get this fucking collar off me, I am _no­-_"

So I drowned out his next few statements whilst whistling and singing 'So You Had a Bad Day' at the top of my lungs, attempting to prepare chicken flavored ramen and totally ignoring the raving Puppy.

_Se la vie_, right, wiseass?

XxXxXxXxXx

I like ramen and Puppies….


	9. Manly, French, Musical Ventriloquism

No, you're not imagining it, I am really updating

No, you're not imagining it, I _am_ really updating! I just wanted to start this off with a disclaimer in saying I appreciate all the reviews and, eternally, the patience people have with this thing. I promise you, this plot has a purpose. –If you're going to thank anyone for this, thank Blood Raven, for the review that threatens me to update p Kidding, but that's a shout-out! Anyway, onto the kibble-eating psychopath! I own nothing! –But that dog.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

It'd been a good day since the collar was in place, and for hours I could only watch as he rolled around the floor making guttural sounds and swatting at his neck. It was no use, he was too scrawny, and his paws were too small. I wanted to make a joke about the fact that he was an _ickle widdle puppy_ who'd once been a…_very _scary man.

"I-I do not—" Growl. I snorted back a sound while he flailed, desperate, realizing it was quite difficult for a dog to lie on its back, "—belong to _anyone!"_

"You gonna do that all day? I have to walk you."

He stopped, mid-flail. His ear was flopped, stupidly over one eye, the mask of legendary glue or whatever kept it fixed to his face just plastered there. He looked, if possible, disgusted.

"You want to _walk_ me?"

"You haven't been outside in days. You made me buy you an indoor kitty-litter box, or fuck's sake. You need contact with sunlight."

He looked like I'd just told him he was to be executed.

Sunlight? What in _hell_ was that?!

"Isn't it bad enough that I am in perpetual contact with you?"

Eye roll. I could only snort at him, in fact, shaking my head in irritation. Why was he such an effervescent smart-ass? Was it so hard to admit someone's company wasn't so intolerable?

"Come on, you'll be the sexiest dog on the block. Promise." I really was wondering if that was the appropriate remark, but once you've got sexual tension—or tension, anyway, with your own _pet_, there are no boundaries. "I'll even let you play with the bitches."

"Do you presume that my existence as a canine automatically sets me into attraction with canines of the opposite gender?"

"Well, you know, if it's with canines of the same gender I don't really give a shi—"

"_Pardonnes moi, mademoiselle, se taire!"_ Owch, agitation, much? I had no idea what'd he'd just said, so I simply grinned in a funny sort of way and whistled, remarking that I'd get his leash and we'd go on an adventure. I, of course, strategically continued to mutter about my sexually confused dog, just to make him angrier. He fumed in a way that I'm sure would have been frightening when he was human…but was hardly disconcerting as a dog. It was sort of like enraging a Care-Bear.

"Ma, I'm walking the dog." My mother, who'd been in the living-room, stared up from that week's _Lifetime_:_ Television for Sissies _special and nodded approvingly.

Erik, the oh-so-smart Dog, simply grunted again in the most masculine way possible—when you were an extremely cute puppy, anyway.

Meanwhile, on the way downstairs to grab his leash, I was thinking about some way he could speak without being tested like a lab-rat. I could always say I had a newfound love of manly, French, musical ventriloquism. It was, I was sure, a rare talent, indeed.

"The red leash or the black leash—or the hot pink one, Erik?"

His eyes widened, his mask lifting again, and in horror he only responded—

"Ruff."


End file.
